hungry but full

Life does funny things to you. Right when you think it's smooth sailing, that the rough winds have died down enough for you to not get sea sick...the waves start getting a little crazy again and you begin to wonder if the grotesque shade of green your face is turning matches the seaweed being heaved onto the deck of your recently polished boat. You know it's gonna be more than a three hour tour, far more than what you and Skipper bargained for.

So, this is how it is right now for me. It's been an incredibly rough week, but I'm determined to try to stay as "normal" as possible, continuing to busy myself with the things I love, especially cooking--even if I can't ingest the food I make. What irony, hu? The girl who wants to have her own restaurant one day, and possibly go to culinary art school, has pretty significant digestive problems that seem to be getting worse as of late (though I am thankful that up until this week, things seemed to be settling down....I guess it was just too boring for my body). It seems even cream of rice made with water and a pinch of sugar and cinnamon is too much for my disturbed stomach, it's quite pathetic and frustrating, considering how much I love food. It seems we actually have a love-hate relationship, but most of the time I tend to be in deep denial over the "hate" aspect of it.

Oh yes, I think my footprints are deeply embedded on the carpeted path leading from my bed to the lovely toilet room. And those fab all-night stomach stabbing-cramping sessions are back again, hopefully only for a short (but very unwelcomed) visit. I really do need this blog to vent, I don't want to mix what I love (i.e., cooking, poetry, and even music) with my not-so-happy bloggings, but, hey, I try to be realistic, I can't even stay unhappy for too long, it's "un-Sophie". I just wish I could divide things up that easily in real life...like, maybe I could convince my body to only get sick on days when it's too hot or even too rainy to do much else, and it would be quite wonderful if I could orchestrate my stomachaches around my work schedule, but life is holding the bulletin board of Sophie's activities, and my body is too darn weak to speak up and say NO, getting sick really is a waste of time, not to mention depressing, so lets focus on something more productive!

So even though there's still the medical bills to pay off from my past surgery, and college debt I can't forget about...at least I actually got my degree, and thank God I didn't have to sit around with a sick gallbladder, just waiting for my liver or pancreas to start malfunctioning. What else? At least I can still cook...and even if I can't eat it, I'm thankful it makes someone's day; Jose gets a kick out of trying something that came out of my at-home experiment lab, aka kitchen. And when I'm staring at the ceiling late at night, feeling like I'm the only one with gut-wrenching pain, I realize that I still have my entire life ahead of me. This isn't a fatal situation I'm in and God has already blessed me far more than I expected to be blessed at this point in my life. Who can forget this ultimate sustaining blessing--my sanity keeper--love. I have plenty of it, and even though my empty stomach might be craving a juicy steak which, upon its consumption, would definitely open the door for me to get a "thank you for being our #1 customer" call from a Charmin sales representative....I know my heart is full and quite satisfied.

So, yeah, I might feel like I'm the only 20 something year old with a 90 year old digestive system, but at least I know that what I have is meaningful and lasting. Sometimes I think I wouldn't have been able to figure it out on my own, all these obstacles have definitely opened my eyes. For instance, I don't know how many girls my age can say that their fiance has been there with them "in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, in good times and in bad."

It seems marital vows are quite easy to recite for anyone wearing the fanciest dress/tuxedo they'll probably ever own, but it appears those vows lose their significance once the "special" occasion is over; they get hidden in the closet and start to yellow like the once white wedding dress. The only gown Jose has ever seen me in is a hospital gown, and as far as I'm concerned, it actually holds more symbolic meaning and significance to me than any wedding dress ever could. And how do I know I'm with the right person and that I do have a groovy kind of love, even if Phil Collins already said he had it first? Because Jose's already done far more for me than what the average husband ever has to do for his wife, and, also, he's not doing it just because he vowed to, though it is evident that in his heart he's just as dedicated as if he did.